


Familiar (but new) every time

by Yuliares



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Italy, M/M, Movie Night, Popcorn, Post-Canon, Tattoos, Team Bonding, Team as Family, artwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuliares/pseuds/Yuliares
Summary: Andy, Nicky, Joe and Nile fly to the safe house in Calabria to regroup. With a new team member, and old ghosts, they settle into habits and patterns both old and new.With artwork from Linaxart!“I thought you were sharpening thekitchenknives,” says Nile.“I was,” Nicky says. “But then I figured, why not do the rest of them?”“Based on the bullets on the end table,” she says, “I’m going to guess you found these under a bed.”He gives her a blank look. “Of course not,” he says, straightfaced. “Everyone knows you keep throwing knives in the linen closet.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 276
Collections: The Old Guard Mini Bang 2020





	Familiar (but new) every time

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE credit to the amazing artist Linaxart on [Tumblr](https://linaxart.tumblr.com/) & Twitter! She went above and beyond to make 2 different pieces for this fic and inspired some of the written scenes. Working with her was a delight.

“Where are we going?” asks Nile, seat belt clicking. She catches herself peering out the small airplane window even though it’s too dark to see anything but the small runway lights. 

At least this time there don't seem to be any drugs in the cargo.

Joe grins, fingers tapping against his thigh. “Back to Europe.”

“Southern Italy,” adds Nicky, nudging Joe over to sit next to him while keeping his eyes on Nile. Beneath them, the plane rumbles as the engine roars to life. “Have you ever been?”

“Never,” says Nile, as Joe grumbles and makes faces at being forced to adjust in his seat, Nicky's long legs bent and knocking against Joe's knee, the length of their thighs pressed together. The restless tap of Joe's fingers settles, and then ceases entirely. “Being deployed to Afghanistan was my first time out of the country.”

Nicky leans forward, grinning. “You will like it," he promises. "They have wonderful cheeses-”

“And wine!” adds Joe, leaning back and pointing at Andy, who's digging something out of her backpack. “Brunello di Montalcino. 1889?”

“Mm,” says Andy, the corner of her mouth quirking. She shoves an energy bar in her back pocket and chucks a paperback onto the seat by Nile, where it lands with a thump. The zipper whines as she yanks it shut again. “That was a good year.”

“Aged in oak for at least 3 years,” intones Joe, smiling wistfully at the ceiling. "Sangiovese grapes only - sanguis Jovis, the blood of Jupiter. And Nicky made us that risotto-"

"Portabella mushroom, with pheasant," recalls Nicky, dimple flashing.

Joe snaps his fingers. "That's the one. And we opened up at that wine - 10 years in the bottle at least, you know. You gotta let it breathe for an hour after opening it up-"

Nile groans. “You’re going to turn me into a wine snob, aren’t you.”

“Connoisseur,” corrects Joe cheekily.

“No, no,” says Nicky. “ _Intenditrice_. We’re going to Italy, she must learn _italiano_.”

Below them, the engine kicks into a higher gear, and the plane shudders slightly as it starts to roll down the runway, slowly at first, and then picking up speed. Andy smacks a hand on the overhead bin to remain standing.

Nile frowns at her, and then Joe and Nicky. She’s the only one who has a fastened seat belt.

Andy smirks, as if daring Nile to make a comment.

“How much Italian do you know, Nile?” asks Nicky. 

“Uh,” says Nile. “Mamma mia?”

Nicky bumps his shoulder against Joe, who is laughing loudly. “We’ll teach you."

Nile looks up, catches Andy's eye. "I was actually thinking of starting with Russian."

Both she and Andy snort with laughter at Nicky's offended expression.

" _Inaccettabile_ ," he mutters, turning up his nose. "Very funny. We start with the basics, yes? _Per favore_ and _grazie_.”

~

“Does she always nap on flights?” asks Nile softly, pulling one earbud out. Andy is a quiet sleeper, face pale and still as stone.

Joe and Nicky exchange a heavy glance that makes Nile feel bad for asking.

“Nevermind,” she starts to say, but Nicky has started answering before she can get it out.

“She sleeps when we’re over the ocean,” he says quietly.

Nile’s throat bobs, suddenly empty. She jerks a nod instead, and looks anywhere but towards where Andy lays, breathing soft, steady breathes.

“Listening to music?” asks Joe, shifting closer.

“A podcast,” she says. “The Breakfast Club. It’s kind of a… mix of gossip and music and politics. I dunno, it’s silly, but I like it." She turns the iPod over in her hands. "I started listening when I got deployed. Made me feel like I was still keeping track of things back home.”

Joe nods, but his eyes are distant. “That’s good. That’s nice.”

“You’ve travelled a lot,” Nile says. “Do you ever miss your home? Do you still think about it?”

Joe looks over at Nicky, and says nothing.

“Yes,” says Nicky, and smiles. “We’re flying to it now.”

~

“We land at the Lamezia Terme airport,” says Nicky. “From there it’s a two hour drive to Stilo, in Calabria."

" _Stilo_ ," repeats Nile, trying to roll it off her tongue like he does.

“Beautiful small town,” adds Joe."And very safe, these days!"

"These days?"

“ _Briganti_ used to waylay travelers on the roads in the 18th century,” says Nicky, gazing out the window at the roads, white and winding amongst the rough green hills below them.

Nile frowns. “Like, highway robbers?”

Nicky smiles sadly and shakes his head. “I’m sure they preferred to call themselves revolutionaries against the tyranny of Rome. The _Risorgimento_ united Italy - the land was part of the Kingdom of Sicily before that.”

“Sicily _citra Farum_ ,” muttered Joe, rolling his eyes. He sketches out a rough outline of Italy on his hand, and then the small island right beneath it's tip. He taps the upper right corner of the island. “ _Punta de Faro_ is the nearest point to the Strait of Messina, which divides the peninsula from the island. So _citra farrum_ means on this side of Faro, not to be confused with Sicily _ultra Farum_ \- on the other side of Faro. Very precise directions, obviously.”

Nicky smiles, dimple flashing. “ Not the worst choice of landmarks, given the options.”

"It's pretty bad," mutters Joe. “Looks good on maps, but you can't tell when you're on the ground.”

“I’m sure you’d notice if you crossed the straight. Hard to miss the ocean.”

"Says the man who missed the _literal volcano_ off the coast-"

Nile zones out from their bickering, looking down again at the green land that has unfolded beneath them.

It looks nothing like the concrete sprawl of Chicago or brown sands of Afghanistan. She thinks about their landmarks. Will she still remember them by the time she returns? And how many years will that be - will they even be the same?

~

The rented SUV throws up a trail of dust behind them as they rumble out of the city and into the green hills. Nile leans out the window, squinting against the rush of air, eager to see the view now that they’re on the ground. Up close, the vegetation looks less like a springy green carpet - more scraggly and desperate, twisting up from the rocky dirt towards the bright sun. In the backseat, Nicky is staring out the window, one hand resting on Joe's thigh, next to the notebook where Joe is sketching loosely - Andy’s profile, shielded by her sunglasses. The rounded swing of Nile's earrings. Nicky, head thrown back, inhaling the sea-stung air with a sigh. Nile looks back out at the rolling hills, rising and dipping almost rhythmically past...

A nudge on her arm awakens Nile from a doze, slumped against the seatbelt, elbow digging uncomfortably into the hard car door jam. There are more hills now, rising in smooth waves like an ambling terrace and dotted by pale, gnarled trees.

Andy points up towards a pale building, blocky and small with distance. "That's us," she says, and over the next ten minutes it grows into a squat, 2-story house, surrounded by a tall stone wall.

When they finally roll up next to it, Nicky has to hop out of the car and unlock the iron gate before they can pull into the courtyard. It wraps around the entire building, pale and weathered, straight lines stark against the rolling hills.

Opening the heavy wooden front door takes a key and some aggressive shoving, and throws up a cloud of glinting dust where it hits the sun.

"When was the last time anyone was here?" coughs Nile, trying to wave it away before stepping inside. The dust simply shifts and swirls around her hand. The interior is dark and cool, and the air is stale.

Joe sneezes. "Fifty years?"

"Ground floor toilet's in here," calls Nicky, and in the dim light she sees him swing open a door to the smallest bathroom she's ever seen. The hinges creak loudly. It's just a toilet and a sink, practically on top of each other.

Nile looks at it dubiously. "Do these pipes even work?"

"There's an outhouse," says Andy flatly, and Nile tries to hide her dismay before a small smirk gives Andy away.

"You jerk," Nile bursts, and snatches up a dusty pillow from the couch to chuck at Andy, making her laugh, and then sneeze, nose wrinkling. "Ugh! Bless you."

Andy snorts, and turns back to the doorway. “I’ll start getting things out of the car.”

"There's a larger bathroom upstairs, with a shower," says Nicky, moving with purpose through the doorway on the right. “Why don’t you open up the windows?”

“Bet I can open more windows than you,” dares Joe, and Nile’s first memories of the Stila house blur into a breathless rush, laughing as she vaults over furniture to wrestle latches on the wooden shutters. Thrown open, they let in a gust of fresh air and sunshine, slicing back the darkness and revealing old rooms full of weird knick-knacks and mismatched furniture. They knock shoulders with each other on the stairs leading to the second floor, skidding down a narrow hallway, tripping on a long rug and knocking over an honest-to-god suit of armor in a cacophonous crash.

“You better put that back together,” hollers Andy from somewhere below them, as Nile takes the door on the right and Joe dives through a door on the left, the helmet slowly rolling under a narrow end table with elegant carved feet.

The hallway ends in a larger room - some sort of lounge with a spinning wheel and a large wooden chest, and an enormous spider web strung between them. Joe trips over an armchair and goes sprawling to the floor, where he flops over, panting.

“I think,” he says, between gasps, “That’s all of them.” He sneezes, again, raises his head to look at her. “How many did you get?”

“Don’t remember,” Nile manages, leaning forward to rest her hands on her knees, breathing deep, feeling her heartbeat pound. The skin over her knuckles, scraped raw from slamming open the last window, burns momentarily, itches for a second, and then heals over completely.

“Oh good,” says Joe, and lets his head fall back. “Me either.”

After a few minute's rest, he leads the way to the kitchen, where Nicky slides them each a glass of water with a snort and doesn't comment on their dust-streaks. Nile looks around as she gratefully gulps down the cool water - he’s clearly been busy, for there’s no sign of dust here. The counters are wiped clean and gleaming, cupboards thrown open to reveal uneven stacks of bowls, plates, pots and pans out, and a chunky metal machine with a handle.

"Look!” says Nicky warmly. “My favorite copper paella pan!" He pulls it out from under the counter, and it flashes in the light as he waves it, the dimpled surface glinting like dragon scales.

"Nice," says Joe agreeably.

Nile looks at the shiny reddish-orange pan in interest. "Copper?"

"Yes,” says Nicky, looking pleased. “If cast iron is king, then copper is the queen - the metal heats quickly and evenly. See how thick the sides are?" He raps his knuckles against it with an echoing clang. "A quality pan. Do you like seafood?”

“Haven’t had much,” she says. “Mostly shrimp and fish?”

“You’re going to love it,” promises Nicky, so fervently it almost sounds like a threat.

“Or I might be allergic,” she says, amused.

"Eh," says Joe, scratching his beard. There’s a wispy string of cobweb stuck in it. "Unlikely. Hasn’t been an issue before.” He pauses, eyes flicking to the empty hallway, before speaking a bit more softly. “Quynh could drink milk." He pauses again, a wistful expression crossing his face. “Though she did hate cilantro.”

The room is silent for a moment, until Nicky clears his throat. "Well, while we're here, we can try lots of new foods," he says, which amuses Nile, since he obviously means that Nile can try new foods. She wonders how many foods exist that they _haven't_ already had.

Nicky tucks a towel over the handle of the oven. "I’m done here. Did you see enough of the house, or would you like a proper tour?”

~

They've settled in by the time the sun starts to throw long, dark shadows. Nile’s got “her” room dusted and swept, sleeping bag spread out on top of the thin mattress and duffle bag half-emptied into the dresser by the time the shadows start to get long. It's not up to inspection standards, but it's enough that she won't suffocate on dust in her sleep. She heads down the stairs and towards the kitchen, drawn by the comforting, domestic sounds of cooking - dishes clattering, the click and hiss of the oven burner lighting, and the rhythmic _thunk_ of a knife against the cutting board.

Sure enough, she finds Nicky behind the counter, a dark blue apron tied around his waist and shirtsleeves rolled up.

“What are you making?” Nile asks.

“Bolognese,” says Nicky, knife flashing as it smoothly slices through a pale yellow onion. He slides it into a heavy-looking pot along with a drizzle of oil and thick pat of creamy butter, which sizzles as it hits the bottom.

“Can I help?” she asks, as the scent of cooking onions blooms to fill the kitchen.

“You want to?” Nicky asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Yes?” she says, confused. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” he says, and waves her over. “You can chop the carrots and celery. Do you want an apron?”

Joe looks up from the couch in the living area, which opens up alongside the kitchen. “Nicky, can I help too?”

“No,” says Nicky curtly. "Stay out of my kitchen, you bottomless pit."

"Is he that bad of a cook?" asks Nile. She decides against the apron - it’s so old, looks like it might fall apart if she touches it.

"He's a compulsive nibbler," says Nicky, throwing Joe a stink eye. "If he likes what he tastes, he'll keep eating it."

Joe makes a wounded noise. "It's a compliment to the chef!"

Nicky shakes his head in exasperation. "It's _sabotage_ ," he mutters. "Pasta carbonara with no pancetta and half the parmesan is just under-seasoned noodles." He waves a spoon at Nile. "You will learn. You can trust that man with your life, but not your larder."

Across the room, Joe clutches his chest dramatically with one hand, flinging the other out towards Nicky, palm up. “ _Il mio amore è così crudele_ ,” he moans.

Nicky pointedly turns his back on the dramatic scene, but the corner of his mouth is curled into a smile that he isn’t trying very hard to hide. “Small pieces, like this,” he says, and hands Nile the knife. “And kindly keep your knuckles curled, I don’t like cooking fingers.”

“I thought I was supposed to be trying new foods?” quips Nile, widening her eyes.

“Ha!” barks Joe from the couch, delighted.

“We do not encourage cannibal jokes,” Nicky says primly, but is interrupted by Andy strolling in.

“We’re eating people?” asks Andy, leaning onto the counter. She smells like the outdoors. “But I bought you that pancetta - could have saved me a trip.”

~

They eat dinner together, and this time, Andy actually sits down at the table. The whole house is steeped in the mouth-watering scent of fried onions, tomato, and parmesan.

“Nicky,” Andy says, closing her eyes after the first bite. “This is good.”

“Nile helped,” says Nicky, looking pleased, though Nile tries to wave it off.

“I just chopped when you said chop,” she says.

“A perfect sous chef, then.” Andy pulls a fig from the bowl on the table and whips it at Nile, who - caught by surprise - who fumbles it twice before the small velvety fruit is secure in her palm.

“We need to improve your hand-to-hand combat skills,” says Andy. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

“Uh,” says Nile, but it’s not like she’s got anything else on her schedule. “Aren’t you still healing?”

Andy just snorts at her.

“If Nicky is teaching you to cook, and Andy is teaching you hand-to-hand, then I have to teach you something too!” declares Joe. “What do you want to learn?”

“You’re already teaching me Italian,” she points out, but he waves that aside.

“That’s a group project,” he says. “Ooh! Did they teach you morse code?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Only the radio interceptors had to learn it.”

“Perfect!” he says. “We can use it to send secret messages to each other.”

She looks in surprise at Andy and Nicky. “You don’t-?”

“Boring,” says Andy.

“Nicky knows, but he’s polite enough to pretend he doesn’t,” says Joe, as Nicky rolls his eyes.

Later, Nile helps Joe wash the dishes while Nicky pulls out a deck of cards and begins to shuffle in smooth, practiced movements. Andy fetches a bottle of wine.

“Rummy?” asks Nicky. “Nile, do you know how to play?”

“I know the basics,” she says. “Trying to make sets and runs, yeah?”

“Excellent,” says Nicky, and starts dealing out cards.

Nicky wins the first two hands.

“There is no way he’s not cheating,” Nile mutters.

“All right,” says Andy, cracking her knuckles. “It’s on now.”

Across the table from her, Joe catches her eye, and puts a finger on an ace. He taps it once, and then puts his finger back on it, pausing before lifting his finger again, and then winks.

By the end of the night, Nicky’s won three out of every five hands, Nile’s learned morse code for A, K and Q, and the wine bottle is empty.

~

Nile jerks awake in confusion before realizing where she is, the sun of a new day creeping up the unfamiliar blanket of her new bed, head faintly aching from the alcohol-fueled card game. Her bedroom door is open, and there’s a glass of water on the bed stand that she gulps gratefully. Nile swings herself from the bed to gaze out the window, where the sun is a brilliant yellow on the horizon, rising over green hills - looking down, she catches sight of Andy, slowly and methodically moving through combat moves in the courtyard. Because of course Andy would be both a _stay-up-all-night_ and _up-at-the-crack-of-dawn person_.

Nile yawns, adjusts her head scarf, and goes back to bed.

~

The kitchen smells like coffee when Nile finally wanders down for breakfast, and Nicky insists on making her a caffè latte, heating the milk on the stovetop. 

“This is a cornetto,” says Joe, handing her a pasty. “Nicky bought them this morning.”

It’s golden-brown and still slightly warm, and though it looks like croissant, Nile finds it’s softer, sweeter and filled with orange marmalade.

“Wow,” she says, swallowing the first bite, golden crumbs dusting her fingers.

“What filling did you get?” he asks, and nods when she shows him. Even before her second bite, the bright citrus lingers on her tongue.

“That’s a good one,” he says. “I like the cream-filled ones, myself.”

“There’s cream-filled ones?”

“Oh, yes. And other jams as well, and almond paste. You’ll have to taste them all, find your favorite.”

“Such a burden,” she jokes, and Joe nods with her solemnly. 

“I know,” he says mournfully, clutching his belly.

~

Later that day, Andy announces she's going out to restock their first aid supplies, and Nile eagerly volunteers to join her. Andy, as always, drives with one hand and carelessly blows past the speed limit, though she slows to something reasonable when they get closer to town. Nile inhales deeply, and can smell the sea.

The store they stop at has a colorful awning, and Nile tries not to stare too obviously at the riot of unfamiliar labels lining the isles. They each grab a basket and split into separate isles. Thank heavens for google, thinks Nile, looking up some shampoo brands and basic Italian translations, fingers trailing over the rounded, chunky containers. She's just about ready when Andy finds her and holds out her selections.

"What do you think?"

Nile looks in the basket. It’s half full of energy bars, and there isn’t any antiseptic.

“Maybe some wipes or cream to clean out the wound?”

Andy gives her a blank look. “We have alcohol.”

“That… is not the same. And this is supposed to be something you can pick up and go with, not take a quick stop at the liquor cabinet.”

Andy tilts her eyes upwards, but doesn’t protest when Nile takes them back to the other aisle, scans the shelves and throws a package in. Bandages, gauze, scissors...

“Tweezers,” says Nile, and then eyes Andy’s profile. “Are you gonna be insulted if I also suggest buying some pain meds?”

“Oh, we already have a bottle of cocaine,” Andy assures her blithely. “Found it in the back of the cabinet. Or do you think it goes bad?”

~

Joe and Nicky look up when Andy and Nile return from their convenience store run, paper bags rustling.

“How was it?" asks Joe. "Find anything interesting?”

Andy snorts and veers off down the hallway, taking the bag of first-aid supplies with her.

“I just want to inform you,” Nile says, “That cocaine is no longer considered an appropriate anesthetic to just pick up at the corner shop. Other than that… I got hair supplies," Nile says, shaking her bag. "This humidity is making me go all frizzy.” Her curious gaze falls on Joe’s hair. “Does your hair not...?”

Joe shrugs. “Just keep it as short as I can while fitting in and oil it once a week. I don’t really style it.” He grins. “Funny, the things you don’t find time for, when you’ve got all the time in the world.”

At that, Nile laughs. “Well, if you want, I could teach you some stuff. Though I've got more practise with longer hair.”

“Maybe I will. What about you?”

Nile’s hand touches her braids. “These? I'm taking them out soon. Probably go back to cornrows.”

“We could help,” says Nicky, gently. “If you’d like. I’d be interested in learning.”

“Oh,” Nile’s voice stutters. “Uh. It’s not a fast process. I'm talkin' hours.”

“We’ve got time,” reminds Nicky. “But only if you want.”

“Maybe,” says Nile, and there’s - there’s something in her throat, a sudden hot ache of _gratitude-homesick-nostalgia_. No more words come, so she retreats to her room to put things away, lining up the shampoo and conditioner, stacking the hair cream, nudging them so they’re as centered and straight as they’d be in a store display and the lump in her throat is gone.

~

Having a shower all to herself still feels like a luxury, and the only stopwatch is how long the water heater can keep up. She keeps things quick and efficient, takes her time with her hair - the shampoo she picked up is silky smooth between her fingers, fragrant with lemon and olive oil when she works it to a lather.

Nile carefully rubs it into her scalp and hairline before slowly and methodically pressing it into and between her braids, humming softly. The spray of water from the showerhead rattles as she ducks her head beneath it to rinse it all out… she’s still impressed the plumbing hasn’t sprung a leak after so many years of inattention. She gives the ends of each braid one last squeeze before finally shutting off the groaning water, stretching to grab her towel, examining the braids in her reflection. They’re starting to grow out, but she can keep them a little while longer.

She props her phone beside the mirror and queues up a video on the works of Pietro Sanonica while she works moisturizing cream into her hair, touching up her edges and checking for flyaways. It feels right, learning about the works of an oft-forgotten Italian while visiting his country. Maybe they can go to Rome, and see some of his statues in person?

Not for the first time, Nile shakes her head, hardly able to believe how quickly the shape of her life has changed in the last two months. 

Joining the army had been a way to honor her father… and to see the world.

That, at least, wasn’t changing. 

She hopes the first reason isn't either.

~

The afternoon finds them all in what Nile considers the living room - the room adjacent to the kitchen on the main floor. She’s scrolling on her phone, catching up on the news, while Joe reads a book on the couch. Nicky and Andy are at the table - he’s cleaning and sharpening the kitchen knives, methodically oiling and then grinding down the blades, while Andy stands and unpacks one of the bags they had brought with them on the plane.

There’s a steady thump as Andy dumps things out, when she suddenly freezes. 

“Andy?” asks Nicky. Nile and Joe look up, where Andy is staring at a book in her hand. “What did you find?”

Andy doesn’t respond.

“Andy?” he asks again. Joe shifts forward, couch creaking.

“That _FUCKER_ ,” shouts Andy, and hurls the book onto the floor. “That fucker,” she repeats, spinning on her heel and viciously kicking over the nearest chair on her way out.

Nile makes an abortive move to follow her. “Should we-”

“Give her space,” says Nicky, shaking his head.

Joe gets up to grab the book from the ground.

“What happened?” asks Nile.

“Don Quixote,” says Joe, quietly.

“Ah,” says Nicky, as if that explains things.

Nile clears her throat pointedly.

“Sorry,” says Nicky, wincing a little. “Was a gift. She gave it to Booker.”

They all stare at the book in silence.

“We always gave him shit for liking books, with the name Booker,” Nicky says softly. “He’s always liked books that were older than him.”

Nile watches Joe try to smile. His lips curl, a little, but it's more a grimace. "I can’t," he says finally, shoulders hunching towards Nicky, who reaches up to wrap his arms around his waist. " _Mi serve più tempo_."

Nile turns away, awkwardly poking at a dusty box of… bullets, apparently, because obviously you put those on side tables here, while Nicky and Joe murmur a few more soft words to each other.

They all go to bed early.

~

The next day Andy kicks her ass up and down the courtyard until Nicky takes sympathy on her and distracts them with a knife-throwing challenge, claiming he wants to test the fresh edges he gave the blades.

“I thought you were sharpening the _kitchen_ knives,” says Nile. 

“I was,” he says. “But then I figured, why not do the rest of them?”

“Based on the bullets on the end table,” she says, “I’m going to guess you found these under a bed.”

He gives her a blank look. “Of course not,” he says, straightfaced. “Everyone knows you keep throwing knives in the linen closet.”

“Ha!” yells Andy, and slaps a knife into his hand, waving at her latest throw. “Beat that.”

~

Three nights in, and Nile finds that the door to her bedroom is always open when she wakes up. She's the only one sleeping on her own - Andy, Nicky and Joe sleep in the largest of the bedrooms, where three bed frames have all been pushed against the walls like a makeshift dormitory - Joe and Nicky by the window, Andy on the far wall, and the empty bed between them.

Nile stares at the open doorway. She feels like the opened door ought to bother her, but she has a hazy memory of a shadow pausing in the frame, a reassuring presence, like a guardian in the night.

The next night, she closes the door out of habit and is halfway back to bed when she realizes. Pauses.

Nile takes three steps back to swing it open again before crawling under the covers.

~

On Sunday, Joe wakes her up early, waving a cup of warm coffee under her nose like he planned her pavlovian response to the rich aroma.

“Come on,” he says. “We’re going on a field trip.”

“Who’s we?” she mumbles grouchily, but she takes the cup, cradling her fingers around it.

“Nicky and I,” says Joe. “Andy said she didn’t have time for mumbo jumbo shit.”

Nile snorts a small laugh. “Are we doing a seance?”

“Better,” says Joe, grinning. “We’re going to _church_.”

~

“And by church, I mean a church,” says Joe, fingers tapping the steering wheel as they rumble up the side of a mountain. “National monument, now. You have to buy tickets!”

For some reason, this seems to delight him.

Nicky is less amused. “A church should not charge for entry,” he mutters.

Joe chuckles. “They have to pay for upkeep, habibi.”

"Where are we going, exactly?" asks Nile.

“ _Cattolica di Stilo_ ,” says Nicky.

~

The church is built on the side of a mountain overlooking the houses of the valley, a brick cube with five domes rising from it - one on each corner and a large one rising from the center. Without the domed roofs, it would look, Nile thinks, kind of like an enormous, ancient Lego. They pay at the gate and Nicky smoothly declines a tour guide, clearly charming the woman who waves them past the small counter to walk up the main entrance. As they draw closer, the decorative diamond patterning of the brick walls becomes clearer, and the clay tiles of the roof give the domes a uniform wave, like a perfectly crimped pie crust. The windows are set in arches, bricks radiating out like miniature suns.

"How old _is_ this place?" asks Nile.

“Built in the 9th century, under the Byzantine empire,” says Nicky, reading from his flyer. "It's one of the few remaining examples of Byzantine architecture."

The entrance is tall and dark and narrow, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust.

"What do you think?" asks Joe.

The central interior is lit with sunlight pouring through multiple windows. Square cobbles make for an uneven floor, and rough brick builds up the walls while four large columns hold aloft the high, vaulted ceiling. 

Nile blinks. "Is that pillar upside down?" It's hard to miss, a completely different color from the other columns, with floral carvings at its base.

"Yes! From the Romans." Nicky waves her closer, pointing at some roughly hewn markings on the smooth column side. "See these?" 

"What is it?" asks Nile.

"Arabic! And the other one," he points to the other column bestest the entrance. It's base is wider than the two columns in back. "Has Greek!"

“They reused building material they found in the area,” says Joe. He drifts towards one of the frescoes on the wall while Nicky continues talking.

“The _Cattolica_ name is derived from the Greek word _katholiki_ , referring to monastic settlements. Though the holy water font over there was added later, when the Latin-rites were introduced. The bell is from about the same time.”

Nile looks up at the ceiling over the entrance, where a seated Christ looks down, angels surrounding him. Despite the crumbling plaster, the painting is bright with rich reds and blues. In the center of the room, the ceiling opens even higher, multiple windows drawing in light. “There’s a bell?”

“In the left apse,” says Nicky. His quiet voice echoes in the empty chamber. “Though they only ring it for special occasions, now.”

"You remember - you've seen - so much."

Joe leans over, tapping his temple. "Memory like a steel trap."

Nicky shakes his head. "Don't listen to this liar," he says. "We’ve done the tour for this church many times. You know,” he adds, musing, “For most of our lives, we had no idea what was going on around the world. Architectural mores changing, technology advancing, new fashion styles. It's fun, coming back and seeing what you missed." 

“Yeah,” adds Joe, gesturing to the far wall. "Like how poor Saint John over there's lost his forehead," he says, making Nile laugh.

They wander apart, and Nile is drawn to the paintings, searching for familiar apostles and saints, taking the time to bow her head and pray, wondering how many people before her have done the same.

Finally, she notices that it’s just Nicky and her in the building. “Where did Joe go?”

“He stepped outside. Are you ready to go back?”

The bright sun blinds them as they emerge from the building, and it takes a few blinks before they spot Joe, leaning against the mountain side with his sketchbook out.

“Ready?” he asks, closing it easily and tucking the pencil in his front pocket.

“Maybe you'll go back there someday,” says Nicky, as they rumble back down the winding mountain road. “And you can see how it’s changed.”

“Yeah,” says Nile, smiling as the church shrinks into the distance. “Thank you.”

~

After a lesson in grappling with Andy, Nile takes a shower and is putzing around on her phone when she hears someone in the kitchen. She’s surprised to find it's Andy, slapping a baking sheet onto the counter.

"Long time no see, kid." says Andy.

"Hey Andy," she says. "Whatcha up to?"

" _Sbrisolona_ ," says Andy smoothly, leaning back. Three sticks of butter are already set out on the counter. "Wanna help?"

Nile nods. "What is it?"

"Baked… dessert thing?" says Andy, scrunching up her face. "Kind of like shortbread, I guess. But strudelly."

"Like a dessert bar?"

Andy looks unsatisfied. "Eh. Sort of - you break pieces off instead of cutting it up. Whatever. The important thing is it's got the holy trinity - sugar, butter and nuts."

"Sign me up," agrees Nile easily.

Nile is handed almonds and hazelnuts to chop while Andy pulls sugar, salt, cornmeal, and flour out from the wooden cupboards, still gleaming after Nicky’s thorough cleaning.

“Not too fine,” says Andy, handing her a bowl with sugar in it. “Mix it up with the nuts.”

Briefly, Nile looks for a spoon, but Andy dumps a bunch of cornmeal out directly on the counter, so she digs in with her hands.

Andy sprinkles some salt on top, and then cuts the butter into small bits. “We’ll dump it all together,” she says. “Mix it up with your fingers, but don’t press it - should be all crumbly.”

Nile digs in, the soft butter clumping as it gathers the sugar and meal, jagged nuts sticking out. Andy sprinkles some flour on top, waits for her to mix it, and then pokes it before adding more flour. The kitchen is warm, and Nile realizes the oven must be pre-heating. It smells slightly woodsy and sweet.

“You do much baking?” asks Andy, eyeing the mixture critically and adding more flour.

“Mostly for the holidays,” says Nile. “With my momma and my brother. We would bake sheets of sugar cookies and gingerbread men, decorate them with frosting and sprinkles.” The memory is bittersweet, and stings her eyes. “What about you?”

Andy shrugs. “I learned this recipe from a farm woman, during my first visit to Italy - in Mantua. Showed me how to make butter as well." Andy pauses, a faraway look in her eyes. "Been making it ever since." She blinks. "Not that I like cooking. It’s a means to an end.”

Nile grins. “You like sweets.”

“Who doesn’t?” asks Andy, and stretches up to grab a bottle of white wine.

Nile raises an eyebrow.

"Don't judge me," says Andy. "It's for the recipe."

"Of course it is," says Nile, as Andy uncaps it - and immediately takes a swig. "I don't know how you haven't died of alcohol poisoning."

"Oh," says Andy, splashing some wine into the mixture. "I definitely have.”

Nile dutifully mixes it in. "You are _crazy_."

Andy grins, and slides the wine bottle over before reaching for a baking pan. "Welcome to the team!"

~

She finds the boys before wash day.

“If you guys still want to learn,” Nile says, touching her hair, “I’m taking them out tonight and braiding tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” yawns Joe, leaning heavily against Nicky’s shoulder, open book on his lap tilting precariously.

Nicky smiles, and tugs the book back into place. “We will be ready.”

~

So Nile shampoos her hair, and then it’s time to take the braids out. The bathroom counter is slippery porcelain, but she's gotten good at propping her phone up between the toothpaste and the mirror, and loads up a suggested playlist, sending a mental thank you to Copley for her unlimited data plan. 

They haven’t heard from him since they left for Italy.

Grabbing her scissors, Nile snips the end of the first braid, working it loose with the tip of her comb, gently unravelling it up to where her natural hair begins. She’s got a spray bottle with some conditioner - just enough to keep things damp, putting down the comb to wiggle the braid apart with her fingers, separating out the feed-ins carefully. She lays the synthetic hair out on her bed - she’ll need to make sure they dry out before she puts it away to use again later. She pauses to spritz again, the scent of lemongrass hanging in the air. The next song that comes on is only vaguely familiar, so she hums along loosely instead, wonders if her brother knows it, if he’s heard it on the radio. Wonders if her mom’s sitting, fingers in her hair, gently twisting curls back from her broad face and the laugh lines by her eyes. 

Her own eyes are wet, and she smears them with the back of her hand. The playlist continues to meander.

Once the braid is completely unravelled, it’s time to detangle, and Nile works from the tips of her hair inwards with familiar brush strokes, until everything is soft and loose.

The song changes again, and this time she sings along.

“ _Just a sweet word,_ ” she croons softly. “ _The table is prepared for you_.”

~

The next day Nile finds Joe and Nicky, unsurprisingly, in the living room.

“Ready for your first lesson?” she asks. She already took the morning to separate her hair into sections, lightly twisted and conditioned.

Nicky bumps his shoulder against Joe. “The student becomes the teacher,” he says, both of them setting their books aside with a smile.

“That was… almost a Star Wars quote,” says Nile, impressed.

“We saw that movie, didn’t we?” asks Joe, curving an eyebrow at Nicky.

“You’re not sure!?”

Nicky nods, face contemplative. “Lightswords, spaceships. Small green alien with big ears.”

“... you’re joking,” says Nile, and then laughs when Nicky’s expression cracks into a grin. “You ARE joking! You jerk, I thought I was going to have to sit you down for a movie night.”

“We don’t watch many movies, generally,” admits Joe. “But we don’t live in a _cave_.” 

“Any _more_ ,” adds Nicky. “Though that could change. But we’re getting distracted.”

So Nile sits down and shows them how she divides a small chunk of hair into three strands, pulling from under the middle section and keeping tight to the scalp.

"You just add a little at a time," she says, demonstrating. "You don't want to pull too hard, but there should be a maintained pressure. And I've got a conditioner here, just dab some on occasionally, it'll help keep things smooth."

"I see why it takes so long," says Joe. "These are very fine braids."

"How fortunate that we are very patient," adds Nicky, bright eyes focused on the movement of her fingers. "I think I've got the pattern. May I?"

"Here," says Nile, about an inch in. "You can take this one over and I can start one on the other side." The transfer is awkward but cheerful, and Nile starts on the new braid with a smile, taking care not to pull her edges too tight.

“How long will these last?” asks Joe, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Two or three weeks, depending on how well it’s done.”

“One for us, then,” says Nicky with a laugh, and though he is working slowly, his hands are steady. “But we’ll get better.”

## 

For detail shots of this piece, check out [Linaxart's Tumblr post!](https://linaxart.tumblr.com/post/638947035416002560/the-old-guard-mini-bang-2020-theoldguardevents)

"Here," says Nile to Joe. "You can take this one, if you're ready. Two in the left hand, one in the right - take the index finger and go under." She swipes a bit of conditioner and smooths it down over the braid Nicky's working on. "You can use more of this. It prevents flyways while you're working, protects my hair, and helps the braid last longer."

"Coconut?" asks Joe, rubbing it between two fingers. "We used it as sunscreen, in the tropics."

"It's very trendy right now," says Nile. "They're putting it in everything."

Joe shrugs. "It's a very versatile nut."

"You can tighten it up a bit," she tells Nicky, who adjusts his hold. 

“This will be good to know, on a job,” says Joe, practically.

Nicky snorts. “You're just excited to learn something new to do with your hands.”

"What can I say," says Joe. "I like the arts!"

"You're lucky you have been spared from arthritis."

“Indeed. Though I think my fingers are cramping,” Joe mutters. “Maybe if I cut them off and reattached them...”

“Don't you _dare_ get blood-” Nile almost jerks away before she pauses, rewinding his words. “We can do that?”

“What, reattach things? Oh, yeah,” says Joe. “Hurts like a bitch if you get something caught in-between while it heals though.”

"I'll admit to being curious, but I am not chopping my own fingers off," Nile declares firmly.

"I'm sure an opportunity will come," says Joe, as if _that's_ supposed to be reassuring.

~

“Tadaa!” exclaims Joe, finishing the braid with a flourish. "How is it?"

Nile runs her hands over the braid as it curves over her head. "Not bad," she says.

"You don't have to protect my feelings," says Joe, laughing. "It's clearly uneven."

"A bit," admits Nile. "But it's still quite good for your first time! Better than me."

"And you were how old?" asks Nicky dryly.

"For cornrows? Teenager, for sure. You guys are kinda jumping into the deep end. I started with easier styles." She inhales deeply, lets it out in a soft sigh. "My momma said that if I was set on joining the military, I needed to know my own hair. That she wouldn't always be around to do it for me."

“She sounds like a wise woman.”

“She is. You know, one of my earliest memories is of my mom doing my hair,” says Nile, and suddenly finds hot tears prickling her eyelashes.

“Nile,” says Nicky, quietly, and his steady fingers in her hair pause.

“Should we stop?” he asks.

“No,” she whispers. “I just miss her a lot.”

“Maybe you can tell us about her?”

So she does. She talks about long hours, and bagged lunches with giraffe’s drawn on the front, and her mom dancing in the kitchen while wearing rubber gloves covered in soapsuds, until she’s got a head covered in slightly lopsided cornrows and her tears have dried.

~

The next day, the sky chokes with dark clouds which burst open, rain hammering loudly on the roof. The mood inside is just as grim, Andy fidgeting restlessly with a sudoku book, tapping the stub of a pencil against the arm of her chair while Joe pokes sadly at a bowl of oatmeal. No fresh baked goods _this_ morning.

Nicky doesn’t even offer to heat her some milk, so Nile drinks her coffee black with a banana, checking the weather online before considering the gloomy room.

“Okay,” she finally says. “I cannot do this all day. There’s gotta be chores or something that will get you up and moving.”

“We could… probably clear out the linen closets,” says Nicky, while Joe shoots her a dirty look. But he gets up with a groan to follow Nicky, and they upend the entire contents of the deep closet, sorting out sheets that have had entire sections shredded into mouse bedding. Andy finally joins them when they unearth a box full of padlocks, which she places on the table reverently, before coming back to help dig out three dusty crates full of dark bottles, more bullet casings, and a stack of yellowing newspapers.

“You now, helping with the laundry was one of my first chores,” Nile says, roughly folding the last-damaged blankets and setting them aside. “My momma made it sound so important that I bragged about it for a week to my brother, until he begged her to let him help too.”

Joe huffs in amusement. “I fetched hay, for the goats. We had lots of goats - more goats than children, though I couldn’t say which caused more trouble.”

“Were you a troublemaker?” teases Nile, and Joe quickly waves a hand. “Oh, no. I was the serious one - the academic, the bookworm. Of course,” he adds. “That meant on the rare occasion I _did_ pull something, I always got away with it.”

“I collected sticks,” said Andy, slowly. “Dry sticks, for kindling.”

“I was sent to collect water,” says Nicky. “I like to sprinkle it along my path, imitating the priests in Mass. My father was angry, but I think it helped pave my way with the church.” His lips quirk. “But that was a long time ago.” He eyes the pile of discarded sheets. “I suppose we could make cleaning rags-”

Andy groans. “Nicky, no. Just let us burn them.”

“This is perfectly good fabric!” argues Nicky, already up and moving. “I will find a scissors, I’ll be right back,”

Andy turns a beseeching look to Joe, who just shrugs. “Our Nicolo is not a wasteful man,” he says.

“He’s wasting _time_ ,” says Andy, but it’s the bin of newspapers that she empties into the fireplace. “Nile, you know how to pick a lock?”

“I can shoot a lock,” says Nile.

“Too loud,” says Andy, pulling three grimy padlocks out and dumping them on the table. “C’mere, I’ll show you.”

~

Nile catches Nicky alone after breakfast, washing up the last of the plates.

“Nicky,” says Nile, pausing in the doorway. “Can I… ask you about something?”

He looks up and smiles. “Of course, Nile. Have a seat.”

She pulls back a chair, turns it so the back is between them and she can rest her arms on it when she sits. He finishes wiping down a plate, tucks the towel onto the oven handle to dry, and then sits across from her.

“What would you like to know?” he asks.

“You said you were a priest, before. Do you… still believe? In God?”

“Ah,” says Nicky, and his eyes settle on the cross around her neck.

“You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to-” she adds quickly. “I just-”

“No, no. It’s okay. I just need to think for a moment. On where to begin.” says Nicky, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. He’s silent for a long moment, while Nile chews on her lip.

“Nile,” he finally says, brows furrowed earnestly. “I joined the Crusade because it’s what I believed my God wanted of me. I was bringing salvation to infidels who were violently rejecting the one thing that could save them. And while I had moments of doubt, up until my death, I believed in the war. With my whole heart.”

He sighs. “And then I met Yusuf. With these hands,” he held his long fingers up to the light, “I killed him. Many times, just as he killed me. And when he was the first to walk away, I followed him, Nile, _so I could do it again_.” He gives a little laugh, short and dark. “I only stopped when I was too tired to even lift my sword. And then he began to _talk_ to me, though we could hardly understand each other. And slowly, I found him to be an intelligent man - an artist, a scholar. He took me to the markets and introduced me to spices like cinnamon and pepper, and pomegranates, and honey. He showed me libraries, and mosques. I kept following him. And everywhere we went, I found myself confronted with new things. Beautiful things. How could these people be the infidels I had been told I was fighting?”

His lips twist. “It took us a long time, Nile. And most of it was Yusuf waiting for me to catch up. That’s why I said we fight for what we _think_ is right. Sometimes you don’t know, or can’t know, whether it's related to religion or not."

"Oh," says Nile.

“Yes," says Nicky, solemnly. "My immortality was a chance to unlearn everything I thought I knew.” His pale eyes meet Nile’s. “ _Everything_.”

“Right,” breathes Nile, and isn't sure what else she can say. “I - thank you. For sharing.”

Nicky puts his hand out on the table, palm up, like an offering. Nile stares at it for a long moment, before sliding her hand across the table to rest her fingers on his.

“Nile,” he says softly. “I do believe in God, still. And I do not carry guilt endlessly for who I used to be. But I have also learned much about moral obligation, and complicity, and now my faith is… changed.” His smile is flickering and small, but his fingers are warm and steady. “This is just my story. It doesn’t have to be yours. Your God is already so different from the one I grew up with.”

~

The break’s nice, but it’s weird - not having a job to do or anywhere to be, and Nile’s starting to feel restless. She figures it’s time to start easing out of vacation mode, so she sets her alarm early, pulls on running shorts, and is out the door a little after sunrise.

Nile hits the rush of endorphins halfway through her run, and is still grinning when she returns to the house, looking forward to a shower and breakfast, only to pull up short when she enters the living room. Andy is lounging in a chair, reading a book one-handed, the other hefting Nile’s laptop in the air casually, as if it were forgotten. Around her, the room is… just trashed. The table is literally a foot from where it used to be, everything on it scattered on the floor, the chairs overturned.

“What happened?” she cries.

“What?” asks Andy, blinking and looking up.

Nile gestures at the room.

“Oh,” says Andy. “That was the boys.” She waggles the laptop. “I saved your laptop.”

“What were they-” Nile begins to ask, but stops when Andy smirks. “They weren’t-”

The smirk grows.

“While you were _here_? And you just _sat_ there?” Nile asks, aghast.

“People these days are such prudes,” sighs Andy. “You do know families used to share one bed? And babies don't come from cabbages-”

“I can’t,” says Nile, throwing her hands up and fleeing before Andy can say anything more.

"Oy," Andy calls after her, still waving the laptop. "You're welcome!"

~

But despite her dismay, there's something about the, uh, living room 'incident' that bothers Nile, something coldly uncomfortable amidst the hot rush of embarrassment. She worries at it all evening, poking and unravelling threads of thoughts - Joe and Nicky, the drive to the church. Religion. Their arms, wrapped tight around each other every night, in the dark.

The next morning, she leaves Andy and Nicky arguing over a chessboard (they have, apparently, developed some custom rules over the years, but disagree on the particulars) to join Joe outside. It's the first overcast day since they arrived, though the air is still warm beneath the heavy, grey clouds.

“Hey Joe," Nile says, going for casual. She's not sure she's hit the mark, because Joe immediately straightens from where he was leaning over the open engine of the hummer. It smells faintly of oil and gas, and there’s a toolbox on the ground at his feet. “Nile,” he says, smiling easily. "What's up?"

"I don't mind if you and Nicky want to be more, uh, affectionate,” Nile blurts, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I just - I don't usually see you hug each other, or kiss, when I'm around. I don't know if that's a thing you do, usually, but if you were avoiding it because of me - you don't have to.”

Joe blinks at her, opens his mouth. "Yesterday-"

"Andy mentioned it," Nile says quickly, feeling her face flush. "Not in detail! But it got me thinking about… stuff."

"Stuff," repeats Joe, grinning. 

"I'm trying to be sensitive, you jerk," says Nile, fighting a smile of her own, relieved.

"It's very kind of you," he assures her. "We do not need... displays. But,” he adds, tilting his head. “I suppose we are all creatures of habit. Some formed in less… accepting times. Perhaps..." he trails off for a moment, before blinking back into focus to lean forward, quirking an eyebrow. "I assume you have no interest in witnessing anything like yesterday-"

"No thank you!" Nile confirms, and Joe leans back over the engine, laughing.

“Honestly,” Nile admits, “I did kind of wonder if… you know. There was still a spark, after being together so long.”

“Oh,” drawls Joe. “There’s definitely still a spark.” He pauses, then gestures upward to gray sky. “Nicky is my twin star, my partner in orbit. When I am lost, he is the moon that pulls my tide to shore. Just to share his sky is enough to make me happy.” He smiles, soppy and smitten. “To light a spark between us is to burn into a comet and crash together, before settling back into our mirrored path through the heavens.”

Nile stares at him with wide eyes.

“Wow,” she breathes.

His lips twist in opposite directions, a bit abashed. “Too much?”

“No! That’s just… so romantic. Kinda gives me hope, you know?”

Joe ducks his head. "I am a very fortunate man."

“You’re definitely setting a high bar,” mutters Nile, as he crouches down to rummage around in the tool box, and pulls out a filthy looking rag.

“So, uh. What are you doing?”

He taps the front of the vehicle. “Just checking the oil and the filter. Looking for any corrosion, loose wires...”

Nile tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “... didn’t we rent this?”

Joe shrugs. “I like working on cars. It's relaxing.”

"You're probably one of those people who actually likes the smell of gasoline," says Nile.

Joe laughs as she wrinkles her nose. "What, you don't?" he teases.

~

Even though they said they would teach her Italian, most of what Nile picks up is domestic and food-related.

Phrases like _Mi passi il pepe_ (though she learns that adding salt and pepper is a very American habit) and _vino rosso o bianco_ (it’s always red wine if she asks Andy, regardless of their meal, much to Nicky’s continued dismay).

Andy’s Russian lessons appear to consist almost entirely of directions, numbers and weapons. Nile has no clue how to say ‘Hello, nice to meet you’, but she _can_ say there are three machine guns above them, and five swords in the basement (that would be a lie - she’s certain there are more, but hasn’t had a chance yet to do a full inventory).

She downloads Duolingo on her phone for some… supplementary vocab.

She doesn’t mention it to the others. It’s just a hunch, but she feels like they might be offended.

~

IKEA sends her an email on their new line of throw pillows.

"I gotta say," says Nile, taking a moment to really look around the living room. There are three throw pillows, and they would _not_ match with anything IKEA is offering. "The decorative choices are eclectic, but it kinda works. And I like that lighthouse," she adds, pointing to a painting in the corner.

"Thank you," says Joe. "I lived there for a few years."

"Wait, did - did you paint that?"

"I did! Mostly from memory, I didn't have paints with me at the time."

"You didn't have much of _anything_ with you at the time," grumbles Nicky.

"How can you say that! I had you!" cries Joe, before winking at Nile, and fake whispering, "Nicky did not like the lighthouse."

Nicky scowls. "It was very cold and damp. And it smelled like-"

"The sea!"

"Dead fish."

"I'm trying to remember how we ended up there… it definitely wasn't planned."

Nile laughs. “They do say life is like a box of chocolates.”

“It really isn’t,” says Andy, not looking up.

Nile narrows her eyes. “It’s a quote. From _Forrest Gump_?” She swings her gaze to Nicky and Joe. “ It's like a box of chocolates because you don't know what you're gonna get? ...Seriously?”

Joe throws a hand in the air. “I told you, we don’t watch a lot of movies!”

“We saw _Casablanca_!” protests Nicky. “And that awful French arthouse film Booker dragged us to.”

Joe affects a shudder. “We do not speak of it.”

“That settles it. We are doing a movie night,” Nile says firmly. “With popcorn.”

She dedicates the next hour to putting together a watch list, and then has to figure out how many of them share a similar streaming platform. Having films come to you via the internet is nice, but damn if they aren’t scattered across a stupid number of different plaforms.

~

“We have a surprise for you,” says Nicky, the dimple on his cheek flashing. 

Nile looks up in surprise. “What, really?”

“Follow me,” he says, and leads her to one of the bedrooms she’s been ignoring. The door is shut, and Joe is standing beside, bouncing back on his heels.

“Go on,” he says. “Open it up,” so Nile reaches for the curved door handle and slowly eases it open.

The lights of the room are off, but small string lights line the ceiling like little stars. A white bed sheet is pinned up the wall, pillows on the floor, and a low projector sits on a crate.

“You said we should have a movie night, so we figured we should have a movie theater,” says Nicky.

“You can hook this up to your laptop,” says Joe, waving a USB cord attached to the projector.

“You guys!” she says, spinning in a circle, then back to them. “This is amazing!”

Joe rubs the back of his head, and Nicky gives a little shrug, as if it's not that big a deal.

“I gotta hug you. Can I hug you?” Niles blurts, flinging her arms around Nicky when he opens his arms to her, and then Joe charges in, wrapping his arms around them both and trying to lift them up with a growl and instead tipping them over. They nearly upend the projector as they tumble onto the floor laughing, and Nile throws herself to the side, nearly clipping it with her elbow and eating a faceful of cushion.

Nicky is the first to recover, propping his head up on an elbow like he was intending to lounge on the floor the whole time. “Nice roll,” he says, grinning.

“Thank you,” says Nile, reclining her head regally. 

“This is new,” says Andy from the doorway, and they turn to see her examining it with an arched brow.

“Andy!” cries Joe. “Come join us on the floor!”

“Eh,” she says, but by then Joe’s got a hand wrapped around an ankle and she rolls with the tug to put him into a headlock, which he quickly wriggles out of, grappling and kicking as they wrestle across the floor.

“I gotta learn that move,” says Nile, watching them.

“Which one?” asks Nicky, army crawling over to her.

“The headlock,” she says.

“I can show you,” says Nicky, and she sees his grin a few seconds too late before she’s being spun around and pinned to the floor.

“Cheater!” she gasps, and he immediately loosens up when she taps his leg. She gathers her legs under her, readies her arms, and grins back. “Again?”

~

“What are you working on?” Nicky asks, and she tilts her phone towards him. He scrolls through her movie list.

“This is the one about the ship that sinks, and everybody drowns?” he asks, pointing at _Titanic_.

Nile’s mind flashes to an underwater scream, and she nearly fumbles the phone in her haste to delete it. “Shit. Thanks." Her finger pauses, hovering. "Did you have anything you wanted to add to the list?”

Nicky shakes his head. “I’m looking forward to being surprised,” he tells her.

“But I don’t know what kind of movies you all like! What if you hate them?”

“Then we’ll choose a different one,” he says practically.

~

They start with _Forrest Gump_ , since that’s the movie that sparked it all.

Nicky takes the mandate for popcorn very seriously, and insists on popping two double-boiler batches, and filling their makeshift theater room with the scent of butter, garlic and parmesan.

~

“I should learn to drive like that,” says Andy dreamily, as the dusty desert of _Mad Max: Fury Road_ rolls through the credits.

“Absolutely not,” says Nicky, which doesn't quite cover Joe muttering, "You already do."

Andy throws a pillow at him.

“Nice markings on the War Boys,” she says. “Always did like ornamental scarring.” She rolls her head back to look at Nile. “Doesn’t work for us, of course. Skin heals right up.”

“Oh,” says Nile suddenly, and pushes her shirt collar aside, craning to look at her shoulder blade. “Does that mean-”

“You have a tattoo?” asks Joe, intrigued.

“Yeah,” says Nile, and sighs, relieved, when she sees the edge of ink still on her skin. “Got it right before I deployed.”

“Maybe I should get some tattoos again,” Andy says.

Nile looks at her tanned, bare arms. “You had tattoos?”

“Oh, yes." Andy stretches out her limbs. "Big, beautiful ones on both arms and legs.”

“But you don’t have them anymore.”

“As the skin continues to grow, the ink gets pushed out with it," Nicky says. "They fade with time, just like anyone else, we just… get more time. Unless it gets cut off, of course.”

“I had a nice set, once,” says Joe. “Of course, having one visible nowadays is a bit too recognizable.”

Andy leans forward, eyes bright. “Do people still get face tattoos?”

Joe groans.

“Is this going to be, like, a mid-life crisis thing?” Nile asks, alarmed.

Andy snorts. “I’m way past mid-life.”

"They say the longer you put it off, the worse it is."

"You just made that up-"

“That does _not_ make this better!”

~

It’s a quiet afternoon, and Nile is curled up on one of the lumpy armchairs with her phone when Andy suddenly says her name.

“Nile. Let’s go out.”

“What?” Nile looks up in surprise, and then over when Andy tilts her head towards the living room table where Nicky is sitting and… reading, one arm tucked casually over the shoulder of the chair. He doesn’t look up. 

She looks back at Andy in confusion, only to have Andy tilt her head to the other side of the room, where Joe is sitting on the couch - staring straight at Nicky and just _smoldering_ , and it’s like gulping a lungful of water, this sudden awareness of the tension in the room.

“Right,” says Nile, a bit strangled, grabbing her shoes and rushing past Andy into the hallway.

There’s a slight rasp as Nicky turns a page of his book, and a sudden blur as Joe launches himself across the room - before the door clicks shut behind Andy. There’s a loud thud and clatter, as the chair crashes to the floor.

“So,” says Andy, cool as a cucumber. There’s another muffled slam behind them, and a cut-off moan that makes Nile spin away from the doorway, blushing, and beat a hasty retreat down the street. 

Andy follows at a more languid pace. “Wanna check out some museums?”

~

Andy points at a flail under glass, part of a line-up of medieval weapons. “That’s not a thing.”

Nile’s eyebrows rise, and she quickly looks around to see if anyone else has heard. “It’s a forgery?” she whispers, leaning closer.

“No, I mean it’s not an actual weapon. One-handed, long chain, giant spiked ball?” Andy snorts. “How would you even use it? Way too heavy to get a good swing with. No - with a long chain, you want a small head, for speed.”

Nile wonders how long it will take her to stop being impressed. “ _You_ fought with a flail?”

“Mostly fought _against_. Not really my style, that was more-” Andy breaks off, and her face stills and darkens. “Nevermind. Let’s go look at the mummies.”

~

Line-drying clothes has, at least in the short-term, a certain charm. The pegs in the house are wooden clips, grey with age, and the weather has been sunny and warm. She hadn't exactly packed for the long-term, and now that she's started running in the mornings, Nile washes her workout clothes every other day after she gets back, and hangs them up to dry in the afternoon sun.

Now, full of lunch and just a bit drowsy, she's pulling them down from where they gently shift in the breeze when Andy returns from the who-knows-where, jerking the land rover to a stop and waving as she leaps out and saunters into the house.

Nile waves back, and takes the time to fold her clothes under the sun and fresh air, and check on the small rosemary plants they'd brought home from the market and planted along the southern edge of the house. Nicky had told her they were tough plants, and wouldn't need any attention once they got established. Nile didn't have his confidence - the cuttings looked small and delicate to her, and she made sure to visit them and give them some water once a day.

Rosemary coddled and laundry under her arm, Nile returns to the house - only to stop dead in the doorway and sniff the air.

“Is that _weed_?” she finally bursts.

Andy, lounging on the couch in a loose, long-sleeved shirt that Nile doesn’t recognize, arches an eyebrow and waves a blunt in her direction, a thin grey line of smoke lazily rising towards the ceiling. “You want some?”

“No!” cries Nile, and quickly shuts the door behind her. “We’re supposed to be laying low, and you’re doing drugs? In the house! Where did you get that?”

“Oh, come on,” laughs Andy. “You’ve seen how much alcohol we drink, you really think we don't branch out and try other substances? Besides,” she adds, stretching. “It's tradition. Smoked weed after my first tattoo - well, we threw the leaves on the fire and sat around it, but same idea.”

That's enough to distract Nile, at least temporarily. “You got a tattoo! Where?” 

“Left arm,” says Andy, rolling her shoulder and wincing a little. “Only stings a bit. Not used to the feeling lingering. They put this plastic sticker thing on top of it, so I can still wear a shirt and all.”

“Can I see it?”

Andy grins. “Not yet. Not until it’s done.”

“Oh boy. How many sessions is it gonna take?”

“Four,” says Andy, and blows out a gust of smoke. “Sure you don’t want any?”

“I’m turning on the fan,” says Nile, shaking her head. “I can't believe you, this place is gonna reek for days.”

"Don't worry so much," insists Andy. "Besides, this is Italy."

"It's legal here?"

"Eh," says Andy. "Misdemeanor?"

Nile glares and throws open each window with a loud bang.

~

_The Sound of Music_ is next on the list after wash day, so Nile brings her supplies along.

“We’re doing hair?” asks Andy, flopping onto the floor, beer in hand.

“Cornrows,” says Nicky. “Nile is teaching us.”

“Tap me in when you want,” says Andy. “I’ve got braiding experience.”

“Yeah?” asks Nile, leaning forward.

“Mmhm. I remember one particular Roman hairstyle - six different braids wrapping around the head, and a special needle to sew them into place. Not that you could see it, really, almost the entire thing got covered up by headwraps.”

"Sounds complicated. Did you need help doing it on yourself?"

"Oho, you definitely needed help, and I definitely did not wear the hairstyle myself," chuckles Andy. "It represented the vow of chastity that all Vestal Virgins took when they joined the Temple of Vesta."

"I’m guessing you were a bad influence," teases Joe.

Andy smirks. "The definition of ‘virgin’ was rather narrow at the time.” She waves a hand. “It was a pretty good gig, honestly - no marriage, and Vestal Virgins could actually own land, though it meant tending fires and baking festival cakes for thirty years. Had to join as a kid though.”

“Too bad,” says Nile. “Given your sweet tooth. I think you’d have done well with cakes.”

~

Joe whistles the tune of "favorite things" for a full week, until Andy upends a bucket of water over his head.

~

They go out to eat, cutting into steaming hot _pizza ai funghi, pizza capricciosa_ , and _pizza Margherita_ with a fork and knife, the thin, crispy dough full of air pockets cracking and fragrant with yeast.

Nile even manages to string together a sentence thanking the cute waitress who brings them beer.

"Don't make eyes at people here,” mutters Andy, kicking her under the table. “People remember you when you flirt with them."

Nile blushes. "I wasn't-"

"Zip it. Save it for _Reggio_ \- bigger city, more people, more tourists."

"We're not going to the city just to - so I can find a hook-up!"

"Of course not. We're going so I can. Also, I want to go dancing.” She smirks. “What you choose to get up to is up to you."

"I do _not_ want to know," insists Nile, and Andy just laughs.

~

They don’t go to Reggio, because Copley contacts them about a job - a small terrorist cell in Croatia, a basic clean and sweep before bombs get placed. They fly into a small airfield in the dead of the night and load up in a dingy motel.

Nile steels her face, throws back her shoulders, and thrusts a bullet-proof vest at Andy.

“You need to wear this." she says, as grimly as she can.

Andy, of course, just shakes her head with a small smile. “I told you. When it’s my time, it’s my time.”

“You are jeopardizing the mission!” Nile argues.

Andy just shrugs. “It’s my call to make.”

“Seriously?” Nile turns to glare at Nicky and Joe, who won’t meet her furious eyes.

“She is the boss,” says Joe, with a little shug. “Sorry, Nile.”

“This is some _bull_ shit,” hisses Nile. “So we take this job and we half-ass it, just so you can get an extra shot at dropping dead? Because if you just get injured, you know we're not going to leave you behind. You guys are supposed to be the best. Is this the best?”

Joe and Nicky look to each other, then to Andy. 

“She’s got a point.” Joe says softly.

“ _Thank_ you,” says Nile. “Look, I get that these guys trust you. They respect you, because you’ve earned it, I _assume_ with less idiodic choices that I haven’t seen. Earn _my_ respect. You promised to help. We do the job, we do it right.”

“It is what we do,” says Nicky. 

Andy sighs loudly. Looks away, crosses her arms. “Mutiny. I should have known.”

Nile raises her chin.

Andy turns to meet her gaze. 

“Fine. I’ll wear it. Bunch of worrywart busybodies.”

“Aww,” says Nicky, as Joe snorts a laugh.

“But this is it,” Andy says sharply. “I wear this, you better not coddle me.”

“Course not,” promises Joe.

~

The rosemary looks fine when they get back - one of them has even put out a new leaf, bright green and narrow.

They settle back into their domestic routines.

~

"Okay, this movie is based on the board game," says Nile, loading up _Clue_. "You know, person X in the whatever room, with a specific weapon."

"Nicky," says Joe immediately, "In the kitchen, with the _mezzaluna_."

"I would not!" protests Nicky. "Besides, it would be Andy on the stairs. With the pool cue."

"Joe," says Andy. "He keeps that scimitar in the umbrella stand, and is the closest to the front door."

"... feel like I gotta step up my game," mutters Nile.

~

Nile snaps awake to Andy’s yell, leaping halfway out of bed before her brain catches up, heart pounding. She nearly collides with Joe and Nicky, giggling as they rush by her in the hall.

“I WILL END YOU,” bellows Andy.

“What happened?” she asks, bewildered.

“Swapped her toothpaste,” gasps Nicky, ducking as a crossbow bolt embeds itself in the wallpaper above the both of them.

“Licorice-flavor!” yells Joe. “Nicky, move!”

Nicky tucks his head and _rolls down the stairs_ , gracefully leaping back to his feet when he reaches the floor and out the front door.

Nile spins around Andy sprints past her, shoving the crossbow into her arms and snarling at the sound of the engine gunning it in the courtyard.

Nile gapes after her, clutching the crossbow to her chest.

“Where even-” she asks, looking down at it. There’s a smear of toothpaste on the carved wooden handle.

“In the bathroom,” she says aloud, laughing a little. “With the crossbow. Of course.”

~

They slink back that evening with a beautiful _gâteau de mille-feuilles_ , which Joe presents to Andy with both hands, like a peace offering. The top of it is marbled with chocolate and vanilla icing, and the sides are packed with slivered almonds.

Andy stares down at them from the doorway, eyes narrowed.

“We also brought dinner,” says Nicky, pulling two takeout bags from the passenger seat. “ _Parmigiana di melanzane_?”

“Hmph,” says Andy, and steps back to let them both inside.

~

“Is she drinking on the job?” asks Nicky.

“You drink all the time!” says Nile. “Also, you do not judge Mary Poppins!”

“I hated those hats,” says Andy. “Though I did once strangle…”

~

"You're back late," says Nile, as Andy strolls well after 9pm, after disappearing with a mysterious wave and the roar of the SUV leaving the courtyard. "Nicky put your leftovers - oh my god, is that a hickey!? I thought you were getting your tattoo!"

"Yes." Andy smirks. "I was."

Nile gapes at her, before pointing an accusing finger. "Your _tattoo artist_? You said not to get involved with people here!"

"It's fine! She's already gonna remember me, with this tattoo job."

"Hypocrite," says Nile, succinctly.

"Not like I'm gonna be around long enough for it to be an issue," adds Andy, and looks surprised when Nile’s expression falls.

"It's actually… nice, you know,” Andy says, softly. “Knowing there's an end." She leans against the wall, looks down as she raises a hand, forcing it into a fist, then loose again. "For so long, I worried there wouldn't be."

“Besides,” Andy adds cheerfully. “There’s still plenty of time to give you lot hell.”

~

"Ah!" says Nicky. "I've seen this one!"

"Oh," says Nile, pausing the opening scenes of _Chocolat_. "We can choose something else-"

"No, no," he says immediately. "I've never seen it like this," and waves at the room, and them. "It will be _new_ , in the ways that matter."

~

“Making caramels?” asks Nile, when she walks by and sees Joe and Nicky in the kitchen.

Joe laughs, still stirring carefully at the caramel-colored mixture on the stove.

“Not quite,” says Nicky, smiling. “We are making smoke bombs.”

“Oh,” says Nile, eyebrows rising. “Of course.”

“Potassium nitrate and sugar,” he says, pointing with a pair of scissors. He’s cutting up loops of string in his other hand, which he waves. “These are the fuses.”

“... and this?” she asks, pointing at the silicone mold on the counter. It’s bright red, with heart-shaped indentations.

Nile feels a sudden burst of affection as both men struggle to keep their faces straight.

“... it was on sale,” says Joe, cheek jumping.

Nicky nods - he has a better poker face than Joe does. 

“Also smoke bombs are very romantic,” he adds, which is enough to break Joe into a snigger.

“Right,” says Nile, amused. “Have a nice date night, boys.”

“We can teach you the recipe,” Joe calls after her. “For when you meet someone special!”

~

“This is not very accurate,” says Andy, loudly chewing on a mouthful of popcorn.

“You know,” says Nile, grinning. “I’ve been looking forward to your commentary on this one.”

“Well, first off, they would never let all those gladiators die like that. Fighters like that are expensive! Their owners would go bankrupt!”

“But they _were_ slaves,” says Nile.

“Oh yeah, lots of slaves, though you could get into it as a career,” says Andy. “There were schools - not important. The point is, you were an _investment_. Solid meals, medical care, a chance to drum up adoring fans in the stands...” she slants a sly look at Nile. “... sometimes in bed, if you were real popular.”

The fight on-screen does a close-up shot of a vicious headstrike.

“Oof,” says Nicky. Next to him, Joe is lounging back, gleefully cradling an entire bowl of mustard-flavored popcorn to himself.

Andy throws her hands up. “No! Where are the referees!?”

~

“Andy!” cries Joe, as they all look up from the living room. They had made it about a quarter through sorting a weird grab-bag of bullets that Nile found under the sink, sorting by round size into different mixing bowls, before Joe suggested they turn it into a beer-pong-esque drinking game later that evening. Bored, Nicky and Nike had quickly agreed. “How’d your last appointment go?”

Andy pauses, grinning, in the doorway. “Tattoo is done.”

They all lean forwards, in various shades of barely concealed interest.

“... you want to see it?”

“Yes!” cries Nile, fairly bouncing out of her seat as Andy twists to show them her bare left arm.

Black ink curls around her shoulder and bicep, stark lines tracing the sinuous curves of an enormous snake, twisting above the curving crouch of a panther, claws extended.

Nicky rises from the couch to embrace Andy, her arms rising to wrap around his broad shoulders. 

“It’s beautiful,” Nicky whispers, brushing a kiss against her cheek, before stepping back. Joe takes his place, bumping foreheads in lieu of his usual bear hug. Nile hovers behind them, uncertain.

Andy smiles at her. “You can hug me after you see the other side,” she says, and then turns to show them her right arm, shiny under the second skin covering it.

There are three creatures on this side, thick bands of black leaping into the fierce lines of a hawk’s spread wings, soaring over a lion and an antlered stag that nearly touch, nose to nose, their poses a reverse image of the other.

“Oh,” says Joe, deeply touched.

“This one’s you,” Nicky tells Nile, pointing at the hawk.

“Wait - wha - really?” She looks at the lines of ink again. “So then, that’s… you two.”

“Yes,” says Andy, pauses, and then says, “The other two are Quynh and Lykon. When - my time comes,” Andy raises her chin. “I want the finest warriors beside me.”

“Andy, you’re becoming a poet in your dotage,” Joe says approvingly.

She snorts and punches him in the arm. “Don’t get used it. Nile, c’mere, and don’t you dare cry on me.”

Nile quickly wipes her eyes, and ducks into the open armed hug Andy gives her.

“They look good,” Nile says.

“I think so too,” says Andy, flashing a small smile before straightening her face out. “Now gimme a light. This blunt isn’t going to smoke itself.”

## 

For detail shots of this piece, check out [Linaxart's Tumblr post!](https://linaxart.tumblr.com/post/638959576299028481/the-old-guard-mini-bang-2020-theoldguardevents)

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know what Booker and Quynh are up to, I consider this piece to be the same universe, though their story is more melancholy:  
> [Wars for the Broken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680502)


End file.
